


Ice Gays

by iceprinceofbelair



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Drabble Collection, M/M, Sickfic
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-04-09
Updated: 2017-04-18
Packaged: 2018-10-16 21:59:11
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 4,866
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10580313
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/iceprinceofbelair/pseuds/iceprinceofbelair
Summary: A collection of sickfics for my fave ice gays.





	1. viktor is clingy and adorable

**Author's Note:**

> I'm a sucker for sickfic, what can I say.

Viktor hasn’t moved in several hours. Yuuri has to keep carefully shifting his legs every so often to stop them falling asleep but it’s difficult without prompting his sleeping fiance to moan and shift uncomfortably. 

This is the first time Viktor has fallen asleep with his head in Yuuri’s lap and it’s the most previous thing Yuuri’s has ever seen in his life. He’s slightly too long to lie down comfortably on his own couch so his legs are strangely angled but he must be comfortable enough since it’s been hours by this point. 

Yuuri keeps one hand in Viktor’s hair, gently scratching his scalp in the way that makes Viktor groan involuntarily when he’s awake. Yuuri can feel the heat of Viktor’s fever at his fingertips. He really should wake him for more medicine soon.

The decongestant had long since worn off. Yuuri could hear the thrum of it in Viktor’s chest every time he breathed, shallowly and through his slightly parted lips. He’d complained of a headache before he’d dozed off. Yuuri hopes he’s managed to sleep it off.

Poor Vitya.

After several more minutes, Yuuri decides that he really does need to wake Viktor up for medicine now. His temperature feels like it’s climbing by the second and the soft catch in his breath is slowly becoming a wheeze.

He nudges Viktor’s shoulder gently, still playing with his hair.

“Vitya,” he coos. “Wake up. Come on. It’s time for more medicine.”

Viktor’s eyes blink open and he looks confused for a moment before his gaze focuses on Yuuri and his eyes immediately light up. It’s so endearing, Yuuri thinks, how Viktor will react like he’s seeing an angel every time he meets Yuuri’s eye.

“Hey, sleepyhead,” Yuuri whispers, smiling softly down at Viktor. “Time for more medicine, okay? Your fever’s rising again.”

Viktor buries his face in Yuuri’s stomach, muttering something which is muffled by Yuuri’s hoodle. Yuuri chuckles and gently turns Viktor’s head again.

“What was that?”

Viktor frowns. “Don’t wanna let go,” he croaks, clutching Yuuri’s hand. “Medicine means you have to move.”

Gently, Yuuri uses his free hand to sweep Viktor’s fringe away from his eyes. 

“I know, Vitya,” he murmurs. “But you need some water, at least, yeah? What kind of fiance would I be if I let you boil your own brain?”

Viktor seems to consider that.

“Okay,” he says, accepting Yuuri’s help in sitting up and immediately grabbing one of the couch cushions, hugging it to his chest and tucking his legs up next to him. “As long as I can have pillow-Yuuri until you get back.”

Yuuri’s heart clenches. That’s adorable. That’s actually adorable.

“I have a better idea,” he laughs, turning his head to the hallway and whistling. Seconds later, Makkachin is enthusiastically licking Viktor’s face. “Careful, Makka. He’s not well.”

Viktor abandons the cushion in favour of letting his poodle clamber into his lap. Makkachin really is too big for that but somehow they make it work. Yuuri holds Makkachin’s cheeks with his hands.

“You take care of him, okay?”

Makkachin barks.


	2. period cramps and a cold are viktor's downfall

Yuuri always buys him chocolates when he feels like this which is about the only good thing Viktor can say about getting his period. Everything else is objectively, what’s the word…sucky. Cramps? Sucky. Cravings? Sucky. Feeling too bloated for comforting snuggles from his Yuuri? Extra sucky.

Being an athlete and with more years on testosterone than off under his belt, periods are a fairly rare occurrence for which Viktor is very grateful. But his switch from being a full time competitor to becoming a coach had given his body the perfect opportunity to do the thing Viktor most disliked about it.

Back in Russia with Yuuri at his side, Viktor found this time of the month to be a little more bearable. Especially with Makkachin lying across his stomach as a comforting pressure and basically his personal heating pack.

“Thank you, my love,” Viktor said as he accepted a cup of lemon and honey infused tea from Yuuri who ruffled his hair fondly as he passed to sit with his back against the arm of the couch. He tucked his socked feet under Makkachin’s legs and offered Viktor a sympathetic smile.

“Feeling any better?” He asked.

Viktor sniffled, the steam clearing up some of the congestion he felt. He’d just been getting over a cold when the scarlet monster had struck, leaving him with an awful backache and aches everywhere else too. Needless to say, he wasn’t enjoying the combination of the two very much.

“A little,” he conceded because Makkachin was indeed doing wonders for his cramps. He took a sip of his tea and set it down on the floor since he couldn’t reach the coffee table without disturbing his poodle and he had a vested interest in making sure Makkachin never ever moved again.

Yuuri’s smile brightened at this and he murmured a soft “good” before taking a long, considered sip from his own mug. Viktor guessed it was probably Yuuri’s favoured green tea. Unfortunately, Viktor had never managed to convince Yuuri that a little vodka in his tea might be an effective painkiller.

(The first time he’d suggested it, Yuuri had looked at him like he’d grown a second head before looking back down at the mugs he was preparing and muttering, ‘bloody Russians’ under his breath.)

He winced as a dull throb of pain spread across his lower back, meaning he’d have to reposition himself. He shuffled, trying not to dislodge Makkachin, but was ultimately unsuccessful and the dog scrambled over the back of the sofa and trotted off into the kitchen.

“Makka, noooo….” Viktor whined, staring helplessly after the poodle’s wagging tail with a pout.

Yuuri chuckled softly, sliding closer to kiss Viktor’s pout away. “Sore?”

Viktor didn’t answer, merely pouted more pointedly at Yuuri before picking up his tea again, taking small sips between light sniffles. Yuuri’s smile turned hesitant and he worried his lower lip for a moment before he spoke again.

“Do you, uh…I….would a tummy rub make you feel better?”

Yuuri’s face suddenly flushed an incredible shade of crimson and Viktor felt a tug in his stomach which was nothing to do with his cramps. How did he ever get so lucky?

“I…I used to do it for Mari. She got cramps really bad for a while and I just thought maybe you’d like it but if it’s stupid then it’s okay and I’m-”

“Yuuri,” Viktor interrupted, forcing Yuuri to take a deep breath. He smiled. “I’d really like that.”

Yuuri offered a hesitant smile in return. 

“Alright, well…just lie back and I’ll…”

(Viktor _definitely_ had the best fiance.)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i wrote this one for trans day of visibility i'm making my faves trans and u can't stop me  
> ~transphobic comments will be deleted~


	3. sick yuuri is a tad dramatic

“I’m dying.”

“No you’re not.”

“I _am,_ Viktor. I’m dying. My time has come.”

Viktor smiles, adjusting Yuuri’s blankets and kissing him on the cheek just because he can.

“There’s no need to be so dramatic, _kotyonok.”_

Yuuri groans and burrows further into Viktor. “I can’t believe Viktor flies-halfway-around-the-world-to-answer-a-booty-call Nikiforov just called me dramatic.”

Viktor pouts and pries Yuuri away from him so he can see that Viktor is pouting. There’s no point in pouting if Yuuri can’t see him. Yuuri whines at the loss of contact.

“Viktor-uh,” Yuuri drags out his name. “Hold me. Don’t be mean.”

“You’re the mean one. You called me dramatic.”

“You _are_ dramatic and I’m dying so hold me now or you’ll regret it when I’m gone.”

Viktor rolls his eyes but he pulls Yuuri close again and revels in the gentle sigh Yuuri lets out as he relaxes his body against Viktor, surrendering himself to him completely.

“I take it back. You’re not dramatic,” Yuuri breathes. “You’re soft.”

“Shh, darling,” Viktor says fondly, stroking Yuuri’s hair. He can hear in his voice that he’s exhausted. “Just rest.”


	4. viktor is #jetlagged

Viktor hates travelling alone. When he travels alone, he can’t fall asleep on Yuuri’s shoulder. Oh, he misses Yuuri. Sweet, sweet Yuuri. 

As Viktor collects his luggage from baggage claim, he feels a strange dizziness - the kind that only comes with jetlag or waking unexpectedly from a deep sleep - spread through his body. He drags his small, red suitcase behind him groggily and starts heading towards the taxi rank when he vaguely hears someone calling his name.

He turns to find the most welcome sight he’s ever seen. Yuuri. His Yuuri. Standing there with a mask pulled down to his chin, bundled up in his brown coat and blue scarf, holding a hand-printed sight with _Nikiforov_ written in Russian cyrillic. As Viktor’s eyes settle on the sign, Yuuri blushes.

“I…I thought it’d be cute, like in the movies,” he mutters, shuffling his feet. “But then you weren’t looking and it’s kinda dumb anyway and-”

Viktor’s body finally catches up with his brain and he launches himself at Yuuri, abandoning his suitcase and flinging his arms around him, earning a quiet _oomf_ of surprise before Yuuri’s arms wind around him to hug him back. Yuuri turns his head to kiss Viktor’s neck and Viktor just about melts.

“Hello to you too,” Yuuri chuckles, reaching one hand up to cup the back of Viktor’s head, fingers splaying through his silver hair. “I missed you.”

“Missed you too,” Viktor mumbles, feeling what energy he’d managed to summon out of necessity vanish now that he doesn’t have to make his way home. He relaxes against Yuuri with a sigh.

Yuuri huffs out a laugh. “Tired, _k-kotyonok?”_ he tries and Viktor pulls back, eyes wide with delight.

“Y’spoke Russian!” he slurs excitedly, a grin spreading across his face which sparks a flame in his exhausted eyes. 

Yuuri beams at him and his smile quickly turns sympathetic when he sees Viktor swaying unstably. He winds an arm around Viktor’s waist and grabs his suitcase with the other, gently leading him to the car.

~

“Are you _sure_ you don’t want to take a nap?”

Yuuri has probably asked about six times already. Viktor is so clearly exhausted and though Yuuri knows logically that a nap would be a bad idea for resetting his sleep schedule, seeing Viktor fight to stay awake when he’s so clearly desperate for his bed makes Yuuri’s heart clench.

(Though he knows himself that Viktor will probably be getting plenty of sleep over the next few days. His immune system is, frankly, awful and travelling tends to do a number on him. Yuuri is quite certain that he’ll be stuffy and feverish by morning.)

“Wanna see youuuu,” Viktor whines, reaching out for Yuuri who obligingly settled next to him and accepts the weight of Viktor’s head on his shoulder. Viktor sighs. “Mm, missed you.”

Yuuri pecks the top of his head. “I missed you too,” he says, reaching forward to the coffee table to pluck the glass of water from the coaster. “Come on. Another sip.”

Viktor considers the glass carefully. A spark of mischief dances in his eyes. “One sip for one kiss?”

Yuuri rolls his eyes. “You’re impossible,” he says fondly, watching as Viktor takes a large gulp of water and then makes an exaggerated kissy face at Yuuri who happily obliges with a quick, gentle kiss.

Viktor sighs happily, letting Yuuri take back the water and wrapping his arms snugly around the cushion he held to his chest. Yuuri wrapped an arm around him and he snuggled closer with a yawn.

Yuuri hums to himself while he flips through TV channels - everything is in Russian, naturally, and he finds himself bizarrely exasperated about this despite the fact that he’s literally in Russia - and is about to ask Viktor for his opinion when he glances over and- oh.

Sound asleep. Predictable.

Careful not to disturb his sleeping partner, Yuuri reaches over the back of the couch for the throw and wraps the end of it they’re not sitting on around Viktor’s back. His socked feet still stick out to one side but it does the job otherwise.

“ _Dobroy nochi,”_ he whispers. “Sweet dreams, Vitya.”


	5. a sick vitya is a clingy vitya

Viktor’s having one of his Moments. 

(Viktor’s Moments are different from Yuuri’s Moments though, at the root of it all, they both stem from similar insecurities. Though while Yuuri tends to panic, Viktor gets clingy. Incredibly clingy.)

He appears in their bedroom doorway with a pout on his lips, making Yuuri look up from his laptop and immediately offer a look of loving concern. He knows what’s happening by the pained, sad look on Viktor’s flushed face. Yuuri smiles sympathetically and closes his laptop, shoving it to the side and lifting an arm to beckon Viktor over.

With a soft whine, Viktor pushes himself off the door frame and gently - carefully - curls up with his head just at that point between Yuuri’s shoulder and his chest. He brings his knees up to make himself smaller, snuggling closer to Yuuri in a way which makes his heart swell too big for his chest.

“I’ve got you, bub,” Yuuri whispers, making affectionate cooing noises as he rubs his hand up and down Viktor’s arm. “Not feeling well?”

Viktor shakes his head, Yuuri’s jumper ruffling his hair up at one side. Yuuri smiles and murmurs loving things in Japanese. He knows Viktor doesn’t understand everything but he doesn’t have to. Viktor likes hearing him speak Japanese as much as Yuuri likes hearing Viktor speak Russian. Or French. Or English. Really, Yuuri just likes hearing him speak.

But he also likes when Viktor is quiet. He likes Viktor at his best and at his worst. So, even when he’s having a moment, Yuuri thinks he’s the best he could ever have asked for in a fiance.


	6. feverish yuuri

Yuuri isn’t usually a whiner which is maybe what makes Viktor so concerned. Sick Yuuri more often than not will lock himself away in his bedroom and only grudgingly accept the odd forehead kiss and temperature check from Viktor because he doesn’t want to upset his fiance. After all, Yuuri’s fever-addled mind isn’t quite so quick to forget that his fiance is _The Viktor Nikiforov_ as he usually is.

So, yes, this is new.

“Viktor,” Yuuri whines, drawing out the second syllable with a pout on those pink lips which Viktor would just love to kiss away. His eyes are bright and shining and the occasional exhausted tear spills over and trails down his face (and often into his ear which prompts him to scrunch up his face in the most adorable manner known to man, or to figure skating legends).

Viktor takes a seat on the edge of Yuuri’s bed and smiles, careful not to reach out and touch him even though he desperately wants to just stroke his hair back from his face and hold him tight.

“How are you feeling, _lyubov moya_?”

Yuuri’s eyebrows crinkle as he processes the question and then he quietly says, “Want my mum.”

Viktor’s heart jumps into his throat. Oh. His poor Yuuri. He glances at the alarm clock on the bedside table.

“Do you want to call? Maybe seeing her would make you feel better?”

But Yuuri doesn’t seem to be listening. He’s too busy kicking the covers off his burning body but he only succeeds in getting his legs tangled in them and that’s enough to make him bust into frustrated tears.

“Hey, now, shhh,” Viktor mumbles, quickly untangling Yuuri’s legs and putting the quilt on the ground at the foot of the bed so Yuuri can spread out without getting stuck in it again.

“S’too hot,” Yuuri hiccups, wiping his eyes rather incompetently with the back of his wrist.

Viktor frowns. “Maybe we should take your temperature again,” he says but it’s mostly to himself. He knows Yuuri isn’t in any state to make decisions.

Yuuri’s tears have stopped again. In all honesty, Viktor finds Yuuri’s feverish mood swings the most difficult thing to deal with because what he needs changes so fast that Viktor often finds himself unable to keep up. By the time he’s fetched Yuuri a hot water bottle, he’s trying to strip to the skin because he’s overheating. By the time he’s made food, Yuuri has fallen asleep again. Sometimes, Viktor wants to cry with frustration himself because he’s such a terrible fiance. He’s never looked after anybody before and he hates to think that he’s failing Yuuri who is so tender and sweet when their roles are reversed.

“Viktor,” Yuuri whines again, reaching out for his fiance and making grabby hands (which, holy shit, is utterly adorable.). Viktor can’t help but smile as he gently clasps Yuuri’s hands with his own, rubbing his thumbs over Yuuri’s knuckles. “Help m’sit up?” Yuuri mumbles, pulling gently on Viktor’s hands as though trying to do it himself.

Yuuri flips forwards against Viktor’s chest once he’s upright and giggles, burying his face in Viktor’s shoulder. 

“You’re so soft,” he marvels, snuggling into Viktor’s neck and making him flush right down to his toes. “Like…like a…um…”

Viktor chuckles. “Like a pillow?” He suggests but Yuuri mumbles his disgreement.

“Like a…mmm don’t know how to say it in English.”

“Say it in Japanese,” Viktor says, like that will help in any way at all. Yuuri does and Viktor doesn’t understand but it’s okay because, by then, Yuuri has pulled away and is reaching for the glass of water on the table.

“Mm grglsing,” he says, blowing bubbles in his glass and seemingly forgetting that he can’t talk and drink at once. Viktor suppresses a smile.

“Finish your water first, _kotyonok_ ,” he says fondly, pleased when Yuuri obliges. But by the time he’s finished, he seems to have forgotten he was going to say anything and he flops back down against the pillows, sloshing what little is left in the glass over his wrist.

“Whoops,” he giggles, letting Viktor take the glass from him and clean up the mess. He yawns and it’s only when he’s fallen asleep again that Viktor realises he’s forgotten to take his temperature.

Looking after poorly Yuuri is exhausting and fast-paced but Viktor has to admit that the feelings of inadequacy are totally worth all the times Yuuri is unspeakably adorable.


	7. in which viktor is asthmatic and also sick

Yuuri finds Viktor halfway into his skate pants and almost has a fit.

“Viktor! What are you doing?” He all but shrieks, just managing to refrain from dropping the glass of water he’s holding all over the floor. He quickly dumps it on the bedside table while Viktor looks up at him blearily, already wheezing from the exertion. No matter what he does, Yuuri hasn’t been able to get Viktor’s asthma under control with this cold and, honestly, it’s stressing him the fuck out. Which might be why he snaps, “Why do you never listen to me? Get back into bed!”

Viktor looks cowed but obliges and starts trying to take his black skate pants off again but they cling to his legs and tears of frustration quickly spring to his eyes which breaks Yuuri’s resolve of frustration. Taking pity on his sick fiance, Yuuri kneels down on the floor and carefully untangles Viktor’s legs before helping him to settle back against the pillows, making sure he’s propped up. Lying down only makes it harder for him to breathe and, god, Yuuri just wants him well.

It’s unusual for a cold to set off his chest like this. It’s unusual for anything but a severe allergy attack to turn him into this wobbling, wheezing mess. Yuuri supposes that’s partly why he’s worried. The slightest exertion has his poor dear coughing and gasping and it breaks Yuuri’s heart to see how hard he’s trying to be alright.

Yuuri takes a seat on the bed next to him and takes both of Viktor’s hands in his. They’re warm but Viktor’s been running a fever all day so perhaps it’s not surprising. Yuuri runs gently over Viktor’s knuckles with his thumb.

“I’m sorry for snapping at you,” he says softly, peering into Viktor’s eyes apologetically. “I just got a fright. I shouldn’t have snapped.”

Viktor smiles wanly. “It’s alright,” he says, his voice constantly on the edge of breathless which makes Yuuri’s heart clench in his chest. “Should’ve listened to you.”

Yuuri can’t argue with that so he doesn’t try and instead asks, “You really thought you could even make it to the rink like this?”

Viktor looks down at their hands, gently squeezing Yuuri’s in response while he lets out a tight sigh. Yuuri watches him silently as he tries to understand what’s going on. Viktor is complex; Yuuri still doesn’t understand his reasoning behind a lot of what he does. He’s changeable and fickle and incredibly forgetful but Yuuri tends to forget until moments like this that he’s also quite vulnerable. He hides it well with that big personality of his but when he’s sick, stripped of his defences, his insecurities bubble to the surface.

“Vitya?” Yuuri says softly, leaning a little closer but Viktor doesn’t lift his gaze. “What’s wrong, love?”

Viktor looks up briefly and his eyes and filling with tears again. With a soft sound of distress, Yuuri shuffles forward and pulls Viktor into his arms, feeling Viktor’s forehead come to rest on his shoulder while his arms wind around Yuuri’s back. His fingers grip almost desperately at the back of Yuuri’s knitted jumper and his quick, shallow breaths make it painfully obvious that he’s trying not to cry.

“Oh, Vitya,” Yuuri murmurs, rubbing up and down Viktor’s back in strong, firm lines. “Vitya, Vitya, Vitya. What am I going to do with you, hm?” He kissed the top of Viktor’s head before resting his cheek there. “It’s alright. Whatever it is, it’s alright.”

“I don’t know,” Viktor whispers and his voice is thick with tears and a growing sense of breathless urgency.

So Yuuri puts his hands on Viktor’s shoulders and sits him up, putting one hand on Viktor’s chest so he can feel the fluttering of Viktor’s anxious heart. His own heart goes out to him. Not being able to breathe must be really scary.

“Let’s calm down, yeah?” He suggests gently, keeping his hands on Viktor’s upper arms, squeezing. “You need your inhaler again?”

Viktor shakes his head and shuts his eyes, taking slow, controlled breaths while Yuuri mutters gentle encouragement and reassurance. His poor Vitya. Yuuri can’t resist dipping forward to peck Viktor gently on the forehead which makes Viktor’s lips quirk upwards, eyes still closed.

Yuuri loves him so much.


	8. cold weather isn't good for viktor's asthma :(

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> good thing they live in russia where it's super sunny and warm all the time right?????

Yuuri hears Viktor arrive home from his walk with Makkachin and smiles to himself. The door slams open in a way which is so typically Viktor. That man has never done anything quietly in his life.

But Viktor doesn’t call for him, which is unusual. Viktor doesn’t shout _honey I’m home_ in that cheesy way he likes to do. Yuuri has seen it on TV but he has to say that it sounds much better in a Russian accent. Or maybe it only sounds better because Yuuri’s hopelessly in love with this particular Russian. Perhaps he’s biased.

“Viktor?” Yuuri calls but his voice feels like its trapped in the kitchen. 

A small wave of panic blooms in his chest but he pushes it down. It’s cold outside, even for Russia. Viktor probably just wants to warm up but his Russian pride tends to prevent him from admitting he’s cold so of course it makes sense that he wouldn’t come complain to Yuuri about it.

Right?

(Right.)

So Yuuri turns back to the stove to check on his borscht. Viktor had been delighted when Yuuri had mentioned wanting to try cooking some Russian dishes. Cooking, much like skating, helped calm him by giving his hands something to do. Being raised in an inn meant cooking came naturally by now and, though he wasn’t as good as his mother, Viktor treated every dinner like a gourmet meal.

There’s a crash and Yuuri’s wooden spoon clatters to the floor.

_Vitya._

Yuuri darts into the entryway and feels his face pale when he sees the front door is wide open. Viktor might be forgetful but there are limits to how ditsy even _he_ can be. He hears coughing from the bedroom.

Viktor is there, doubled over where he stands with one hand against his chest and the other curled into a fist at his mouth. His fringe falls haphazardly over his face. The drawer from Viktor’s bedside table is on the floor, its contents scattered. Makkachin is whining, nudging at Viktor’s shins. And Yuuri understands.

He spies Viktor’s inhaler amid the clutter and makes a grab for it, pressing it into Viktor’s hand as he guides him to sit on the bed, carefully avoiding the strewn contents of the drawer. Viktor’s coughing stops but the inhaler hangs limp in his hand while he wheezes, leaning against Yuuri like it’s the only thing keeping him upright.

Maybe it is.

“Viten’ka,” Yuuri whispers, nudging the hand which holds the inhaler. “Please.”

Viktor shakes the plastic weakly but he struggles to uncap it since his hands are shaking. Yuuri does it for him and gently guides Viktor’s arm with a hand on his elbow. Yuuri feels relief bloom in his chest when Viktor sucks in a deep breath, medicine at his lips.

While Viktor holds his breath, Yuuri kisses his cheek and takes his other hand, forcing a worried smile when Viktor glances at him. Viktor’s breath rushes out of him but it already sounds looser. He takes another puff for good measure.

Viktor rests his head on Yuuri’s shoulder while he lets out his breath again.

“That was a bad one, huh?” Yuuri breathes, barely trusting his own voice. 

Viktor nods weakly. “Forgot my inhaler,” he murmurs. “Should’ve taken it.”

Yuuri kisses the top of his head. “What happened?”

Viktor sits up, rubbing absently at his chest with the hand which isn’t clutched in Yuuri’s. Makkachin, who has been trotting anxiously around the room, puts her paws up on Viktor’s lap, prompting a soft laugh as Viktor rubs the top of her head.

“I felt a little tight as soon as I got outside,” Viktor admits. “But I thought it was just the temperature change. It just didn’t go away. Makkachin was having fun playing fetch and I thought I could handle it but-”

Yuuri nods, frowning. He can imagine it all too well: Viktor throwing Makkachin’s ball until the wheezing got too much, getting steadily more breathless on the walk home, climbing the stairs (the elevator was broken), growing dizzy and desperate and frightened.

Yuuri squeezes Viktor’s hand.

“We’ll see about getting you a spare inhaler to keep in your coat, yeah?” He says because there’s no point scolding Viktor for not taking it. There’s nothing he can do about it now.

Viktor smiles gratefully. Apparently he’d been expecting a scolding. But then his face changes and he frowns. “What’s that smell?”

“My borscht!”

Yuuri jumps to his feet and disappears from the room, leaving Viktor chuckling in his wake.


	9. involves sniffly yuuri, cuddly viktor, and a fireplace

Yuuri watches Makkachin curl up in front of the fireplace and remembers when Vicchan used to do the same. He smiles. Though he misses his beloved puppy (though he hadn’t been a puppy by the time he died), the sight of Makkachin doesn’t make him sad anymore. If anything, seeing the poodle content in her old age feels like a second chance.

Viktor appears beside him. It’s late. Everyone else has already retired. Yuuri used to find the inn at night unsettling but with Viktor it feels comforting. He likes the way the fire makes Viktor’s blue eyes flicker with warmth.

Viktor wraps a blanket around Yuuri’s shoulders and gently guides him to sit by Makkachin, letting Yuuri curl up against him and rest his head on his shoulder. Yuuri’s body has been threatening to come down with a cold for days now and it’s finally starting to take its toll on him. He shivers in the sudden warmth of the fire.

“This is nice,” Viktor says softly and his voice is soothing and gentle. 

The soft thumping of Makkachin’s tail keeps steady time with Yuuri’s heartbeat. Having Viktor this close no longer feels like a dream but rather something he needs like he needs air. Viktor’s arms around him in the quiet of the night are safe, comforting. Yuuri feels at home in Viktor’s arms.

Viktor looks at Yuuri, the warm glow of the fire highlighting the fever flush on his cheeks. And he thinks to himself that Yuuri has blossomed in the months they’ve been training together. Where he’d at first been small and anxious, now he has more confidence in himself. He believes Viktor when he tells him he’s doing well. His skating - his beautiful skating - is emotional and powerful and it moves Viktor almost to tears when he skates his free program with feeling.

Viktor looks at Yuuri and he thinks to himself that Yuuri is florescent, a blooming flower in the winter. He’s thriving under Viktor’s touch and tutelage in ways Viktor could never have imagined.

Viktor feels a stirring of something in his chest that might one day be called love. He holds Yuuri close and strokes Makkachin’s head and thinks that he’s be happy if he could stay like this forever.


End file.
